


May We Find Solace

by Inappropriateggplant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 2020 Aka the year everything went to shit, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Plucked wings, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Praise, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleeping Together, Sleepovers, Tenderness, Wing Grooming, Worried Crowley (Good Omens), molting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inappropriateggplant/pseuds/Inappropriateggplant
Summary: Aziraphale waits dutifully till July for Crowley to wake up, but he realizes he's been handling things a bit worse than he thought without someone there to voice his worries to.Or, in which they're both starved of each other's company, and Aziraphale just wants to sleep until everything is okay again
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 173
Collections: comfort fics





	May We Find Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise!! I can make sfw stories as well.
> 
> Not really any plot here, just fluff and angst. Figured we could all use some snuggles ⊂(・﹏・⊂) I'm like two months late but anywayyyy...  
> Heed the tags, this fic deals with depression and self-harm.
> 
> No chaptered fic updates this week, dis boi got mad brain fog

"Time to wake up, my dear boy!" Aziraphale chirps, willing his voice to rise higher than it has gone for months now. "It's July, bright and..." he glances out the window, quieting. "Oh, nevermind. It's raining now. I hadn't noticed." 

Crowley isn't stirring. The angel's heart picks up, putting his hands onto the covers as he shifts closer and dares to lean over the form of the sleeping beast. "Crowley? Dear, it's time to wake up. You've been sleeping for so long." He hears the slightest rumble of breath, feeling relief that lasts for a moment, still catching himself shivering as he moves back away. He shouldn't get too close. He's never gotten permission to come in unannounced like this. 

By his own logic he shouldn't even be here, seeing as the virus is still very much ravaging the world around him. He's decided to ignore his initial resolution, regretting every single minute of the last phone call he'd shared with Crowley. The words he'd spoken had been instinctual, something he's learned from years of dodging attempts at a real connection that he longs for more than could be put into words.

"You have to get up...please. Please, Crowley. The world is breaking apart." He finishes in a voice so soft he can barely hear himself, let alone loud enough to wake the demon, rain pattering on the windows to block out the quiet urgency in his tone. Despite this, Crowley shifts around under the covers, lids moving as his eyes roll beneath.

Aziraphale's been imagining those eyes throughout his days, picturing them holding him in their gaze as the two of them jump from conversation to conversation, oblivious to everything else except some amusement they've found to discuss throughout the week over one too many glasses of wine. He finds himself whispering these voices out loud when he's alone, knowing nobody will be around to hear them. Sometimes he even surprises himself when he gets too loud.

"...I'm sorry, do you want me to leave? I suppose I have intruded on your home." He can't bring himself to leave right now and he knows it. He has to hear the demon's voice before he can budge. Even a word will suffice. 

"...Mmmf...wh...wha...?" Crowley murmurs. His hair has grown a few inches and coiled around his neck, and he has prickles dotted along his chin. It's a sight the angel hadn't seen before while the demon lived day-to-day with the convenience of miracles. His face is partially obscured by a dark blanket, though the angel can tell even his sleek shirt is covered in wrinkles. He looks like he's been sleeping deeply.

Aziraphale struggles to smile down at him, clutching the blanket between his fingers in a way he shouldn't. It doesn't belong to him, and he shouldn't be touching it. 

"...Anggn....angel?" His voice is slurred and deep from lack of use, throat more than likely parched. He groans and pushes himself to sit upright, forcing his eyes open with a mighty yawn that rattles the bed frame. The air around is shimmering with disturbed dusk, glinting in soft rays of light that've been threading in through cracks in the curtains. Whatever finds its way through the thick clouds.

"Good morning, Crowley. It's good to see you again." He feels so outcast even now, like he's still sitting alone in his shop just going over the conversations he'll have when the demon wakes up. He knows he can't express whatever he's feeling. There's no name for it.

"I...ah, I'm sorry for barging in like this. I knew you wanted to be awakened once this month arrived, but it seems not very much has changed. Well, some things have, but not many things have changed for the better. I...I should've...prepared a nice dinner, hm? Maybe a cake, maybe it would've made things more tolerable for you." He chuckles the best he can, unable to pull himself away from the bedside despite his hesitation. "This isn't a very inviting awakening at all. I've gone and ruined your nap, haven't I?"

Crowley is silent, watching him as his eyes begin to light up with alertness. The veil of slumber leaves his expression, replaced by something Aziraphale knows but can't exactly place at this current moment. 

"You're shaking." The realization hits Aziraphale with a flinch, willing his body to tense, block out whatever emotions are lighting up his nervous system so. 

"Oh, don't worry about it. I've just been a bit frazzled lately." he mutters, stepping away to hide better in the shade, rakes of light barely reaching his face. "You look like you've been tossing and turning quite a bit."

"I did, at first...Hey, can you come a little closer?" Aziraphale swallows, lowering his gaze. His chest is tightening, the hollow feeling that's settled in over time is quickly filling up with something more unbearable. He coughs as if he can choke it up and let it blow away in the air. "Angel, come here." It's more of a command than a suggestion now, and Aziraphale doesn't know how to respond. 

"What is it?" he questions quietly as he can, taking a small step closer even as he quivers and falters. "Are you angry with me? Why don't you just tell me to leave then, leave you to your sleeping? You looked so peaceful, there really wasn't any reason to wake you, was there? I've been meddling again, haven't I?" He's chuckling so casually it could've fooled himself.

Not Crowley.

"Aziraphale." he breathes, reaching out unexpectedly and taking the angel's wrist in a hold that's warm from being wedged under blankets. He's studying Aziraphale's face, squinting his eyes to see better in the dim lighting, and the angel tries to move backwards slowly enough so he won't seem on edge, but Crowley holds him firm. "Sit down with me. Let's talk for a while."

"..." He searches his mind for responses, but finds only silence. A silence he's heard for a long time now, filling his thoughts till he's all but yelling to block out the deafening quiet. Near everyone's at home these days, and voices of children he's come to recognize aren't cheerfully calling to each other outside his window anymore. He's immune to sickness but he's not immune to the suffering of others. 

He hesitates, eventually sitting down beside Crowley, looking at his hands in his lap and pressing his lips together. He can feel the beast watching him, taking in his fearful smell, most likely knowing things about him the angel doesn't even know himself. He's always had that talent, though at times like these he can't bring himself to welcome it.

"There's no need to talk, dear. No need to talk about anything right now. You're tired."

"Please, I've had more than enough time to sleep. I want to hear your voice." The words catch Aziraphale off guard, only adding to his shivering that doesn't seem to subside. He's safe in here, in this room next to someone he's known for so long. There's no reason to be reacting this way, but his body isn't listening to reason.

"What do you want me to say?"

"How about we start with you telling me why you're about to cry?"

Aziraphale bristles, slouching his head in an effort to conceal his face a bit better. "Don't think you can hide it. I see perfectly well even in pitch black."

"I could expect no less of a serpent of Hell..." he tries to joke, squeezing his hands together till his knuckles show white. "I'm fine, really. These last few months have just been...difficult. I'm glad you've slept through them."

"What's happened?"

"...It seems as though there's no end to everything that's wrong with the world. I close my eyes and think perhaps tomorrow will bring better fortune, that the virus will disappear and that there won't be anymore bad people...who do such horrible things." He sums everything like a box tied with a neat bow, though those sentences can't even begin to describe all the thousands of things that've been filling up his head with worry.

He's questioned Her before, but this past year has felt like She's punishing the entire world, regardless of who is innocent, and he doesn't know how to feel. "When I open them again, there's more. So much more. I mean, the world has never been perfect, I know that, but lately it's all just been...too much. Since I decided to isolate myself like a fool, ignore your proposal to stay with me and wait out the lockdown, I've had nobody to talk about these things with. They've been piling up in my mind. Ah- not that you need to worry about anything, my dear. It's my fault for being so thick-headed."

Crowley reaches out and swipes a gentle finger over the angel's cheekbone, wiping away a tear he hasn't noticed till now. "Oh- I'm sorry, this isn't anything to wake up to. I should leave, let you relax...unless you're going back to sleep after all. I wouldn't blame you." The thought strikes Aziraphale's heart like an ice pick. He can't take anymore solitude. He can't keep waiting for Crowley.

"I should be the one apologizing, for the fact that I haven't made it clear that you're welcome here, and that you could've woken me up any time you wished." The angel twitches, blinking away another tear and clutching his knees tightly. "Honestly, I was expecting you to, if you didn't get too involved in reading and baking sweets. I thought you'd realize how stupid the idea of keeping me away on the basis of quarantining sounds." Aziraphale winces, vision blurring around the sides as he continues to shake. "I'm not blaming you, not at all, I'm just wondering why you decided to wait till now."

"You said you wanted to sleep till July."

"I was exaggerating."

"Oh...I hadn't considered that." 

Crowley lets out a puff of breath, either a ghost of laughter or a sigh of exasperation, the angel can't tell right now. "It really has been a while then. I wonder if you feel as soft as when I left you." He tilts his upper body till he's facing Aziraphale, leaning in his nose to rest on his shoulder. 

The angel isn't at all prepared for such contact, jumping so hard Crowley flinches and darts back, checking him over with a bright amber gaze. "Oh, oh, I'm so sorry. I just wasn't expecting that." It couldn't be more of an understatement, as physical contact between the two of them was still new even before the lockdown had started. He was in the process of learning that it was alright to touch, that Heaven wouldn't punish him for it. "Please, don't stop."

"I don't plan to, not for a long time." He presses his face back down, placing an arm over the angel's back, rubbing it back and forth, slow and steady. "Just like I remember. The bed isn't nearly as comfortable, you know." 

"Perhaps you need new pillows."

"V' already got the best one right here."

Aziraphale becomes aware of how strong the demon's scent is right now, a sweet kind of musk a long sleep clings to the sheets wafting around his nose, mixing into the smell of soil from the plants nearby.

He's been pressing his nose into a throw he'd been lent last Fall and conveniently had forgotten to return, holding onto the last wisps of Crowley's scent that hid in the soft fibers. It could never be a replacement, not nearly as comforting or familiar. 

The demon's other arm wraps around his chest, pulling him closer, and the movement shifts his chin over the angel's collarbone. The sensation is prickly from the small hairs lining his jaw, and he seems to be rubbing his face ever so slightly. It tickles, and any other time Aziraphale might've burst into a fit of laughter.

"How have you been, angel? I remember how cheery you sounded, could practically see the batter coating your shirt. I guess baking gets a little boring after a while, huh?"

"Somewhat. It was nice at first, going through all my cookbooks and trying out recipes I hadn't gotten around to before. Then I saw a news headline. Then another. Another after that. After a while I couldn't stop looking, and I looked down at my hands all coated in powdered sugar and caramel and thought to myself 'I don't deserve to be doing this'. I don't deserve to be happy. Not while others are suffering."

"I know. It isn't an overreaction...it really feels like the world is destroying itself, doesn't it? Not that it hasn't tried to in the past, with every flood and earthquake, but it's a lot all at once, huh?" 

"Yes." he sighs, twitching when the demon's hand starts rubbing around his shoulder blades. His wings long to come out, craving the same contact as the rest of himself. Crowley already knows. He can feel it too.

"You want to let them out for a while? I haven't groomed them in a long time. S'got to be difficult by yourself."

"I don't think that's such a good idea." That would've been enough of a response if more tears didn't swell up, his voice choking around the sentence. He can't hide like this, he realizes, either by his own inability to conceal his thoughts or the demon's perception. He's never been so good at keeping his emotions in, especially not now that they're all spilling to the surface. 

"C'mon. Just for a while? How long's it been since you let them breathe freely?"

The feeling of air on wings, not the numb haze of the metaphysical plane in which he keeps them away from the human eye, can't be accurately put into words. It's cooling and yet warm, like a scent, a taste and a touch all at once, like stretching out a limb that's been locked inside your own bones for years. Relief cannot begin to describe how it feels. Even thinking about the sensation now sparks a light of need in Aziraphale's chest, and before he realizes what he's done, they've materialized behind himself and...

There's so, so much red.

Crimson on snow white, dark brown and black congealed roughly onto soft down feathers. Scabs incorrectly set, lopsided feathers sitting in them. There are large patches of membrane visible from where he's been compulsively plucking them out, though he's sworn off doing so for weeks now...save for a few days ago when things got a bit overwhelming. He hasn't looked at them till now, eyes widening at the sight of incorrect healing, crackles of wounds that've been opened from stretching them out so suddenly. 

Crowley stares, mouth gaping.

"Angel..." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" he quickly gasps, trying to will them back into their respective hideaways before the demon can gawk anymore. They won't budge, like the shift from one realm to another has taken too much energy. Ah, energy is such a fragile thing these days. The energy it takes to move out of bed, to eat the things he normally loves. It's much easier just to lie there and wait, hope it'll be easier tomorrow. "Don't look, I know they're hideous. I...got into an accident." If his mutilated wings aren't enough, he lies. A being who can barely call himself an angel, lies to his one true friend.

"Bollocks." His voice is joking, the response better than the angel had expected, but Aziraphale still lurches from the bed and tries to find a shadow that will hide him. "Don't run from me, angel. I'm not angry with you. You've done nothing wrong, understand?" No, that's not true. Everything he does is wrong these days. How he hasn't fallen is beyond him; he can only assume She's been too busy with other things to notice all his failures.

"I sh-I should go now...can you use a miracle to make my wings disappear? I can't seem to do it myself right now." Crowley shifts the covers down and off his legs, slowly walking towards him. "Please, forget about this incident entirely, would you? Go back to sleep while it's still so dark and quiet, and whenever you decide to wake up again, we'll go to the Ritz and have a nice meal perhaps." The demon doesn't say anything, instead creeping closer and carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He rubs it there, gentle squeezes, coaxing Aziraphale to look him in the eye. 

"Hey, let's get you to the bathroom, yeah?" he whispers, sliding his touch across his shoulder till he has his arm around the angel's back. His hold is secure and warm, and Aziraphale can't help but shiver in the midst of so much contact at once. He feels like a touch as soft as this might break whatever seams hold him together. "I'll draw a bath and we can get you cleaned up nice and slow. It can take all day if you want."

"I've already troubled you so much."

" _Angel_." he says, voice full of quiet sorrow, and Aziraphale wonders if he's ruined the demon's day completely. His wings are disgusting, a pitiful example of how an angel should care for them. A mockery of his heritage. "You haven't done anything wrong. Come with me. I'll take care of you."

Something in Aziraphale melts, some icy structure that's been poorly keeping him going, and his body becomes pliant while the demon begins to lead him to the bathroom. 

He hopes She can't see him right now, so pathetic a demon can so easily maneuver him without a single protest on his part. He isn't strong, and he wonders if he ever really has been. Wallowing in self-pity for months just because he's let his own emotions get the best of himself.

"Just a little further, almost there." Crowley murmurs, guiding his numb form into the brighter room and setting him down in an oval tub. It sometimes exists in the demon's bathroom and sometimes doesn't, sometimes small and sometimes large. Today, it's big enough for the two of them and with room for his shabby wings to spread themselves out a bit.

Aziraphale hasn't really looked at them till now, nor felt their ache, kept away on another plane where everything is numbed down from the raw pulse he feels now. Nerve endings are alight, patches of bloody pulp where feathers have been roughly picked from their sockets. 

It'd felt right at the time, seemed like the right thing to do. He hadn't meant to let it get this bad. In the moments where he was so sure She was going to bring help, make all the suffering end, things only kept getting worse. Humans kept dying, getting hurt, and he could only sit there and let it happen. Heaven wouldn't allow any intervention; it was always part of some grand plan or another.

At times like those, his body worked by itself. Hands digging into plush softness and pulling, tugging, jerking out one feather at a time. Sometimes he'd lose himself and before he knew it there was a handful of them in his hand, sopping with red. It wasn't all that hard either; he'd been losing them quite often. A little molt in the warmer months was normal, though he'd noticed how many more had fallen than usual. His wings seemed to have a mind of their own, and when he let his emotions get the best of him, they began to shed. Right now he was left with rather bare appendages, all but naked compared to their former glory. 

They sting when he sits down, whimpering at the pain and crossing his arms over himself. Crowley is behind him, guiding his shirt up and over his head, and he's in no mind to resist the treatment. 

Water pools around his feet, knees up close to his face, and the demon is testing with his hands to make sure it isn't too hot or cold. Aziraphale watches him like a moving picture, or perhaps a line of old photographs on a wall, moving from one moment in time to another. All hazy and dim compared to how things should be. 

"How's it feel?" he whispers, shutting the faucet off when there's enough to go up to the angel's thighs. It's lukewarm, a strange sensation. He doesn't bathe these days. He doesn't need to. It'd be a waste of water.

"Warm." he says, looking down at himself, hardly having noticed his clothes have been taken away and placed outside the tub. He doesn't mind the lack of them, knowing more than ever that his body is nothing but a shell he's inhabiting. 

"Better than freezing cold, yeah?" Crowley pads back over and sits down in the tub behind him, helping guide his wings the rest of the way in. They haven't touched the water yet, and Aziraphale's thankful for that. "Tell me if you need me to adjust it. Or really, if you need anything at all." 

"You shouldn't trouble yourself so much." he insists, groaning when a tip of a wing meets the surface of the water, jerking back up in pain. "You should go back to sleep. I think I can handle a little bath by myself."

"I know you, Aziraphale. I know you don't want to be alone right now." The angel wants to yell at him for saying that, scared of how true it is. The idea that he can't even handle a few hours by himself, a soldier of Heaven, it's...

More tears begin to drip down.

The demon's holding onto his stomach, slowly rubbing over his belly, whispering words he can't make out. His mind is too fogged to hear much, beginning to shudder and sniffle. Crowley cautiously cups one hand, sliding it through the water and bringing it back to let it trickle over the angel's chest. 

"That okay?"

Aziraphale nods, resigning to the slow strokes as the demon begins to wash him. He doesn't need it, he thinks again. Doesn't deserve it. He's let it get this bad, it's his fault. He could've stopped before his wings had such deep holes, and he didn't. 

He whines when his wing grows tired from hovering over the water, finally drooping down. His wounds burn terribly, and he cries quietly while Crowley rubs through his hair, grasping onto one of his hands. "You want me to use a mirac-"

"No. Please, I've done this to myself and-I just...I can't." He doesn't deserve an easy way out. That's what he wants to say. The demon only nods and continues to wash his upper body, breaths rhythmic and steady by his ear. 

"You can do this, angel. It's going to hurt, but they've got to be cleaned, otherwise it'll be even more of a mess later." 

"I know. Believe me, I know." he rasps back, looking at a growing pile of barbs sticking up in the water, his wings weakened from lack of use, he supposes. In normal circumstances, if he was the same angel he once was in his earliest days of existence, he would've been terrified of such vulnerability. His wings were the one thing that remained after he gave away his flaming sword in Eden, his one defense against the horrors of Earth if he needed to flee. Now, they are completely useless. It'd take months before they'd be capable of flight.

He cries out as the demon gently cups under the heavy appendage, smoothing his other hands just under the shuddering feathers. Specks of dried blood and dust run down into the water, and Crowley is already starting to drain the tub and run some fresh water back in, seeing pink murk surrounding them.

"You're okay, you're doing well. We don't have to get them perfect, just a bit cleaner than they are." he says, pausing for a moment to hold the angel's hand. "Just a little more?"

Aziraphale nods, his whole body tense when Crowley brings a handful of clean water up over the top of his wing and lets it run down between ruffled fibers, detaching some of the weak ones that soon fall down and join the rest of the mess at the bottom of the tub. "What are marvel you are, withstanding this. I can only imagine how it must feel right now."

"Liar." he tries to joke, wincing at the ache, resisting the urge to pull his wing back in. "You've been through much more than this. I remember what yours looked like. You were hiding your true wings in Eden through your powers. I saw how they really looked when I happened upon you, saw how bare they were." He hadn't even told Crowley about that night, stumbling upon his sleeping form before they'd really met. "I know what happens when you fall." 

This time Crowley is the one to tense up, trying to say something that eventually gets choked down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, it's not a secret or anything. Lucifer always said we had to shed our old selves to be remade better, and well...that involves our wings. It wasn't exactly fun falling into a river of burning sulfur, but I survived. Just as you're going to survive this, angel." he finishes on a whisper, holding Aziraphale when his other wing meets the water with an excruciating throb. 

The whole room seems to black out for a moment, a long string of sobs tumbling from the angel's mouth, and when the pain dulls he knows Crowley's taken away some of it. "The bad days never last, you know. There are still going to be good ones, times where you can breathe and see the point in anything. And I'll be here, promise. Nothing's ever going to take me from you, as long as you'll allow me to stay." 

\---

Aziraphale is so drained from such an easy activity, it's rather hilarious. He sits deflated in the water, feeling Crowley breath behind his back, not bothering to use whatever energy is left to come up with things to talk about. That's also funny, because he's been saving so many wonderful conversation ideas while he's been in isolation. Now they're all gone. 

He's nearly asleep or perhaps passed out by the time Crowley gently scoops him up and carries him out of the bathroom, setting him on the bed with a few towels to lay on while he empties the bathtub.

The angel feels like a lost puppy waiting for its owner to come back home while he waits, a small trickle of tears starting back up till Crowley sits down beside him and goes about drying him off, taking great care to avoid his wings, letting them dry with the air. 

"You did so good, angel." he murmurs, smiling down at him as he pats his face dry. "That had to have been completely agonizing, but you got through it. There's still a lot of healing left to go, and I'll give them a good grooming soon enough, but a lot of your feathers have to grow back first." He hasn't been taking care of them at all; the baby ones that were just beginning to grow out were the easiest to pluck out. "Stay with me. Rest in my bed for as long as you like. I'll take care of you." Striking such an offer is a terrible idea, because Aziraphale doesn't think if he accepts he'll ever be able to bring himself to leave.

"You don't really want that." he breathes, sounding pitiful and looking even worse. He just knows his eyes are red and swollen by now, but Crowley just shakes his head and bends down, picking up the angel's hand and panting a small kiss on it. It makes Aziraphale's skin tingle, a small relief from the constant ache of wings trying to begin healing once more.

"If I didn't, you really think I'd spend two hours in the tub with you? Really, we've got to work on that esteem of yours. One thing at a time, but we'll start with this; you deserve to be taken care of." Aziraphale resists the urge to refute that claim, biting his lip and looking away. He knows he's already been a burden, and doesn't want to make things even worse. "You deserve to feel alright. You deserve rest. No matter how many times you have to tell yourself that-or I do, for that matter- it's the truth. Understand?"

The angel nods after a hesitation, shuddering when the beast finishes drying him off. "I like it when you're around. I don't detest your presence, or whatever the shite else Heaven's got you convinced about. You're my best friend, and I don't take that lightly."

Crowley's shifts the covers over and crawls next to him, laying on his side. Soon enough Aziraphale's wrapped in his arms; he's always wondered what it'd be like to do this with someone, and he's never at any point considered that he'd be able to with Crowley. It'd always seemed like an odd idea, that he'd feel so much comfort from simply resting under another's touch.

The demon's arms are sturdy and warm, and he can feel his long breaths as they fill up his lungs and puff out against his shoulder, a constant rhythm that helps him bring his own back under control as he begins to settle down. His wings are slowly starting to dry behind himself, and it helps to let them lay on the mattress. They look worse, but feel better. A wound always looks more swollen after a cleaning, but it'd heal better afterwards...now he just has to give himself permission to wait.

"Thank you." he whispers, clutching at the demon's arms like a kitten might cling to their mother. The blanket is shifted and pulled over the both of them, softer than it looks. The warmth is a wonderful contrast to the cool room, like a coat in a deep cave...in fact, the room itself feels an awful lot like a cave. Somewhere deep beneath the Earth, hidden from the harsh bite of cold or the glare of sun. A place where he can find solace.

"You don't have to thank me. I was waiting for you to come by. I knew it wouldn't take all that long...this year was a lost cause since it started, and angels are already bursting with empathy. You shouldn't have had to face any of this by yourself."

"I don't want to face it anymore. Not for a while." he says in a voice that betrays how broken he's felt, heart thrumming with a mixture of grief and comfort. "I know it's weak of me, selfish, but I just... want to sleep till it's all over. Till it feels like there's hope again. Is that wrong of me?"

"Course' not. It's what I've been doing, and what I'll keep doing for another few months at least. I wouldn't mind the company at all." They settle into a snug silence, just breathing and rubbing hands over shuddering muscles. Maybe a few tears drip down; Aziraphale is allowed to feel freely in here without worry of judgement.

"...Do you ever dream?" he questions a moment later, blinking, his eyes more heavy.

"Well, yeah. Sometimes it goes better than other times though. Before you came by, I was a knight again, and you were with me. We were playing chess in the middle of a castle, bickering about which mead tasted the best."

"Oh, I don't remember that one from the history books." he chuckles, hiccuping away a tiny sob. Warmth mixes with the cold in his stomach, each competing for their space in his heart.

"Because it didn't happen...not yet. Might want to do a little revision someday if you're feeling adventurous. Or I suppose we can just actually play a game of chess when we wake up. I'll let you win, seeing as I'm obviously a natural, but I won't make it easy."

"Yes, yes...Do you think if we fell asleep together, we'd meet in one of those dreams? Not the imaginary versions of ourselves, but...oh, how do I explain this..."

"I think we'd see each other the moment we closed our eyes. Maybe you'd see a monstrosity of tail and tooth, and maybe I'd see you as a glowing spectacle of spheres that sing and scream. Either way, you'd be an amazing sight, and there's no telling what sort of adventures we'd have." Free from Heaven and Hell, in a world of their own creation. 

"That does sound nice indeed." he murmurs, finally feeling safe, the loneliness melting away like ice in Spring after a long Winter. "When we wake up, no matter what happens, do you promise you'll be there? With me, right here?"

"I do. I'm not going anywhere, though whenever you decide you feel like you've had enough sleep I'll wake up with you, and then treat you to the best breakfast you've ever had in your life." He's about to say something more, but Aziraphale has already started a light slumber, nestled snugly in his arms. He grins down at him, whispering a few more quiet promises over his ear before he follows into whatever great adventure lay ahead.


End file.
